


Of Yew and Holly

by BelladonnaLee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Romance, Don't copy to another site, M/M, New Year's Eve, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaLee/pseuds/BelladonnaLee
Summary: On the final night of the year, Harry dreams of the nightmare that was born on the last day of the year.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35
Collections: 2019 New Years Countdown





	Of Yew and Holly

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
> 
> A/N: A chilling little something for the holidays.

On the final night of the year, Harry dreamt of the nightmare that was born on the last day of the year. He dreamt of memories that were his, memories that were not his, memories that were shared between two people whose fates were bound together by a prophecy, by a curse, by choice.

He dreamt of two different lifetimes, two orphaned childhoods separated by half a century that was nonetheless a mere blink of an eye. He dreamt of receiving his very first wand: a yew wand—a holly wand. Both were crafted from poisonous evergreen, and both shared the same core: a fiery phoenix feather encased in winter wood.

He dreamt of the duels that he now knew were merely a courting dance, a foreplay for what was to come. The dilapidated graveyard that smelled of death and decay was no different from the primal woods that smell of green and rot and a stench not unlike semen. He could feel the exhilaration and the resignation, desire and despair. He knew he would never be alone again—but who was _he_?

"You are crying, my saviour," a voice whispered above him in the dark. A hand caressed his wet cheek, its touch ever so gentle and ever so cold. "Are you sad?"

For one delirious moment, Harry wanted to laugh. Once the fit of madness had passed, however, he could no longer find his voice beyond an incoherent murmur. As though appeased or meaning to appease, Tom Riddle kissed him on the brow, taking care as always not to touch the scar that marked him as the man's prized treasure.

Driven by an impulse that was instinct in disguise, Harry lifted his head slightly and sought for Tom's kisses with his lips. Tom, chuckling in amusement, obliged and soon sank into him. It hurt, as always.

In the all encompassing darkness, dreams and reality bled into one another in the cyclical flow of time. It could be 1926 or 2000 and it would not have made a difference to him. He could no longer tell where Harry ended and Tom began, or where Tom ended and Harry began. They were little more than two nameless naked bodies rocking and shaking and clinging to each other, just the two of them together in the dark.

On the final night of the year, he cried out beneath the man and felt his own death; on the final night of the year, a newborn drew its first breath and sounded its first cry and knew of life.

* * * * * * *

_Finis._


End file.
